The Scoundrel. Lisa Plumley
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before “lickety-split.”
In fact, he’d be lucky to get back before his dancing girls pulled foot for San Francisco, Daniel realized. That much became clear the moment he stepped on the platform at the train depot and spotted the commotion there.
He surveyed the gathering crowd. At this time of night—when lanterns illuminated the platform and a dark breeze made the nearby ponderosa pines swish and creak—most people should have been abed, not at the depot. But there was a sizable crowd there, all the same. Ambling nearer in the clerk’s wake, Daniel cocked his head toward the mysterious thumps and muffled swear words he heard. Some kind of scuffling reached him next.
“C’mere, you little hooligan!” the stationmaster said, grabbing for something Daniel couldn’t see.
Whatever it was, it managed to duck away. Several women squealed. The whole group surged backward in a clatter of boot heels and ladies’ button-ups.
“All aboard!”
To Daniel’s right at the waiting train, the conductor issued his standard boarding call for the westbound 8:47 passage. Then, hardly waiting for any response, he jumped on the train and signaled the engineer. Smoke bellowed from the engines as the cars pulled out. The train looked, Daniel would have sworn, to be in a marked hurry.
Curious.
The clerk nudged him. “Looks like your delivery’s still here,” he observed, nodding to the crowd.
From within it came more scuffling. More swearing. More squealing. Apparently, Daniel’s “delivery” was a part of that mess.
At the realization, a sense of prickly unease rushed over him. Something was akilter here. Worse, he’d just been called into the thick of it.
Regretfully, Daniel let pass a moment’s mourning for the waltz lessons he’d doubtless be missing. Then he strode forward. He wasn’t a man to back down from a challenge, no matter how much cussing and fighting was involved. Or how much mystery.
At Daniel’s approach, the murmuring crowd parted. In its midst, he glimpsed the beleaguered-looking stationmaster, then someone about waist height. A child. Before he could do more than take note of the boy’s dirt-smudged face, big dark eyes and wild demeanor, the child glanced up. Recognition sparked in his expression.
“You’re here!”
An instant later, the boy hurled himself at Daniel’s midsection. The tinned beans, bread and ale he’d consumed for dinner were jostled mightily by the impact. Wincing, Daniel took the child by the shoulders and set him apart.
Or at least he tried to. The boy was uncommonly wiry and determined, to boot. When Daniel gently pulled, the child merely…stretched a little, his grimy fingers clenched fast on Daniel’s leather belt.
Confused, Daniel looked up. Although the crowd had not dispersed in the least, the stationmaster had already begun retreating to his usual post. The man brushed his palms together and waddled across the platform, shoulders sagging with relief. The clerk, too, scurried to the depot’s entrance.
They both moved, it occurred to Daniel, with the same haste the train conductor and engineer had employed.
“Hold, there!” Daniel bellowed.
At his shout, the boy started. His scrawny shoulders jerked. A mighty snuffle issued from the vicinity of Daniel’s shirtfront. Awkwardly, he lowered his voice.
“What about my delivery?” he demanded.
“You’re holdin’ it,” the stationmaster said.
The clerk nodded.
Daniel frowned.
The crowd watched avidly. Their expressions put him in mind of the sight that probably greeted a lion tamer when he looked out from inside the circus ring. What the hell was going on here? Had everyone gone daft?
“I was not expecting…a child.”
“We’ve heard that afore!” someone shouted from the crowd.
Titters followed.
“Yeah. Long about April, after a long winter’s rest.”
More chortles. Daniel didn’t find this situation funny in the least. A child had attached itself to him—a child who appeared to know him. Experimentally, he took a step sideways. The boy trundled right in time with him. ’Twas like having a third boot. Or an extra arm. Or a squirmy, four-foot shadow. One that smelled like cabbages and surreptitiously wiped its nose on Daniel’s shirtsleeve.
Again he tried to wrench the boy free. This time, he accomplished a full three-inch space between them before the child locked his bony arms around as much of Daniel’s middle as he could reach and hurled himself forward once more.
Something inside Daniel lurched a little, as well. Most likely, it was the further settling of his dinner. But it felt a scant bit like some mush-hearted emotion…concern, maybe. Staunchly, he shoved it back. He placed both hands over the urchin’s ears.
“You’ll have to take him back,” Daniel commanded in a low voice. “This is a mistake. I can’t take delivery on a child.”
“He’s yours,” the stationmaster said. “Good luck.”
“He’s not mine.”
Several onlookers snickered. Exasperated, Daniel rolled his eyes. There’d be whispers now. By morning, rumor would have it that he’d fathered ten bastards between swallowing his morning coffee and arriving at the depot. That was the way of things in Morrow Creek.
Drawing in a deep breath, Daniel moved his hands away from the child’s ears. As he did, he became aware of the boy’s gritty, unkempt hair—and the striking disparity between his beefy hands and the child’s small head. Clearly, the boy was too helpless to take care of himself. He needed someone to watch over him. At least for tonight.
But it could not be Daniel. The notion was preposterous.
Who would place a child—however stinky, scrawny and troublesome—in the care of a renowned bachelor like him?
The boy shifted. From someplace within his bedraggled coat, he produced a packet of twine-wrapped papers. He let loose of Daniel’s belt just long enough to offer the bundle.
“I’m s’posed to give this to you.” His gimlet gaze latched on the stationmaster, who’d lingered to watch. “Only you. I rec’nized you from the picture my mama showed me.”
Daniel examined the boy’s defiant face. Though dirt-smudged, his features looked familiar. They looked…a little like his own. God help him.
Scowling, he accepted the papers.
The crowd pushed nearer. A deeper scowl sent them back again, affording Daniel room—and lantern light—to read. The moment he glimpsed the handwriting on the fine stationery before him, he knew nothing would ever be the same again.
Briefly, he closed his eyes. He’d need strength to confront the revelation awaiting him. Strength, and a goodly measure of whiskey, too. But since the whiskey was back in his old life—the life that included dancing girls, carefree days and no one watching him with hopeful, little-boy eyes—Daniel knew he might as well get on with it.
A minute later, he put his hand on the child’s shoulder. Ignoring the curious onlookers, he hunched low, so only the boy would hear him.
“Eli, you did a fine job of this. You should be proud, coming all this way on the train by yourself.”
Solemnly, Eli met his gaze. “I know. I won this coat playing marbles.”
After that, the truth was plain. Daniel could harbor no doubts at all.
Gently, he squeezed Eli’s shoulder. Then he addressed the waiting crowd. “This boy is mine,” he said gruffly.
New murmurs whisked across the platform. Daniel couldn’t be bothered by them.